


Flowers Upon the Earth

by oncomingstorm13



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Gallifrey, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, TARDIS x Doctor at some points, Vincent Van Gogh - Freeform, angst and self-discovery oh my, entirely self-indulgent writing, gets a little wild sometimes, let 13 live, lots of pretty imagery and symbolism, mental health awareness probably, season 12 hit me hard, serious! but sometimes not, that's my style babyyy, the timeless child, very cryptic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncomingstorm13/pseuds/oncomingstorm13
Summary: "It is mountainous, with me at the summit, in the stratosphere, alone."The Doctor has just escaped a broken Gallifrey yet again, now alone and trying to cope with the newfound information about her own life she has discovered.---work in progress! still figuring out where this is going. for now, just letting the Doctor be herself and finding herself and her place in the universe and doing whatever the hell she likes. lots of indulgent symbolism, imagery, angst.enjoy!
Kudos: 35





	1. The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> bear with me as I figure out where this is going. hopefully, you'll just enjoy the journey there :)

heyO

this is set vaguely after the Timeless Child, but kinda without the whole Judoon imprisoning 13 thing. so, as if she was just kinda...on her own for a while. Missing the fam, but not going to find them just yet. Experimenting with being alone again for a bit.  
Discovering who she is.

But let's not give away too much.

° ° ° 

"Alright, love, where shall we go today?" 

She was talking to the TARDIS, quietly, gently, because she had grown so accustomed in this regeneration to having someone around to let her thoughts overflow to that if she didn't talk to the machine, she'd most likely go a bit mad. Madder than usual. Bad mad, not the fun type. 

The TARDIS whirred in a tone reflective of the Doctor's, all soft and maybe even a little uncertain. Upon a screen closest to the Doctor, coordinates appeared, next to an image of a lush, colorful garden. 

"Ah, you always know just what I need." The Doctor let herself smile a little, but it soon faded. "Let's go."

After a twist of some knobs here and there, the flick of a switch or two, and a lever pulled down, she was off: Earth, 23rd century, somewhere in Spain.

Stepping out the TARDIS door, the Doctor breathed a contented sigh. The warm, early-summer sun felt marvelous on her skin, in her eyes, and looked just as marvelous as it felt in the scenery around her. It was a truly gorgeous place, very well representative of how she viewed her beloved Earth: full of life, both sentient and non-, and entirely wondrous. 

The garden the TARDIS has brought her to was reminiscent of that legend of Eden, the supposed Paradise where the supposed first humans lived until they were tempted by a snake to eat forbidden fruit of a tree of knowledge, and then were cast out for their disobedience against God. The Doctor made a mental note to go back and see if that old tale really played out that way, once she was feeling up to it. 

This garden seemed like her own little paradise, and she wondered if the TARDIS had chosen it for that purpose. It was filled with dark greens of strong, tall plants as well as the dark bark of various trees, which upon some flowers adorned and which petals fell to the soft, sunlight-decorated ground. All sorts of flowers sprouted up on their own, too, showing off with all different colors and chromas and big beautiful leaves and bizarre shapes. Above, the sky was a bright blue and dotted with puffy white clouds. All around her, the world danced in yellow-white rays of sun. 

"Bit warm," the Doctor remarked, shrugging off her silver jacket and tying it around her waist. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, soaking up the warm sunlight on her eyelids and on her now exposed arms and feeling the warm wind caress her face and blow through her clothes and hair. She sighed happily and turned her head to address the TARDIS. "Oh, I really needed this. Thank you."

She set off to explore, as it was a rather large place, admiring it all. It had been so long since she'd let herself enjoy anything, so she reveled in enjoying this, indulging in the sweet smells of bloom and the softness of the sun and wind, and how wonderfully comforted she felt by the colors, light, temperature, air, and overall life around her. For a brief moment, as she picked a single flower–an orange and yellow marigold–she wondered why this all felt so new to her, so refreshing. Yes, she had been in the TARDIS for a good long while, just thinking and not thinking and grieving things and herself and trying not to think at all at some points, but anything would feel new and good compared to all that. She examined the flower, noticed its colors, saturated and fire-like, and its petals, almost circular and very symmetrical and patterned. 

Ah. Familiar.

Earth was so different from Gallifrey, she remembered. Of course, it had always had people that looked like Gallifreyans, had social classes and wars and technology and creatures and such that occurred just like on Gallifrey, but physically, visually, it was much different. Gallifrey had oranges, rust colors and sand colors and lots of heated reds, like the fields and the deserts and even the way the binary stars shone on the planet. Earth, however, could be quite the opposite, and had so much blue in the sky and upon the vast seas and so much green in the places untouched or carefully tended by humans. The reason this garden, and perhaps even Earth itself, she realized, felt so comforting was because it was so different, so separate from all things relating to Gallifrey. At least, this small part of the world was. And she'd really needed a break from thinking that wretched place, where so much pain happened in such a short amount of time, so many, many times. 

In short, Earth, this garden, was now the Doctor's Oasis, her refuge. Maybe even her Garden of Eden.

Oh, the TARDIS did so well with this one.

She decided that, though the marigold was now a little too associated with Gallifrey, it was too beautiful still to simply drop back where she found it after it was picked. So, she tucked it behind her ear, where it was out of sight but still close. 

"Oh, I love this century. Humans did a good job on this one." She began to carefully and choicefully pick flowers as she spoke aloud, creating some sort of mindless but meaningful bouquet that she supposed would at the very least brighten up the TARDIS. "The age of nature revitalization, I should think. They finally realized after the 21st that they were ruining it all a bit, and decided to show nature who's boss. Well, let nature be boss, and boss nature around a bit less. Made sure nature had room to do its job so humans had room to be alive, I suppose. Good for them." The Doctor hesitated, realizing she had basically been talking to herself. She still wasn't quite used to not having someone there to talk to. Even when she had been separated from her fam, she had always ended up picking up someone else along the way, not even realizing the subconscious motivation to not be alone. 

Thankfully, she thought, there was no one directly around to hear her rambling. In the distance, through some branches and shrubbery, she saw a couple ambling along hand in hand, but besides them, it was only her, the plants, and the wildlife. 

She walked on throughout the garden, admiring the great tall trees here and there, a babbling brook dotted with dainty wildflowers, birds chirping above her and hopping from branch to branch, and occasionally picking more brightly-colored flowers that appealed to her. There was something she loved about the flowers, something that brought her peace–maybe it was the shape of them, their pattern and texture too, how they were so symmetrical and orderly and yet allowed for disorder in the form of organic shapes and this chaotic beauty. Order, but not much that it was limiting. 

After a certain amount of time walking, the Doctor decided to climb a tree. She surprised herself with the childlike urge but let herself indulge in it, having not climbed a tree in centuries. In fact, the last time she could recall climbing a tree was when she was still a child on Gallifrey, a tall, strong, silver tree in a Cadonwood forest. 

Those trees were coveted playgrounds in the eyes of young Time Lords, the scorching sunlight from the binary stars reflecting off the silver leaves like long-forgotten treasure unburied. She had climbed one while the Master, an innocent child still, called up at her to come back down and play with him. But she couldn't then, not yet. She could see everything from up there, the fields, the citadel, and her home. Why would she want to climb down?

Here, in this tree on Earth, the Doctor remembered that same feeling of freedom, of a little twinge of hope in her stomach. In the distance she saw a reformed city, probably Madrid, all contemporary and beautifully remade to not pump out such dangerously high levels of carbon dioxide. In front of that, a vast river, sparkling blue under the cleaner sky. 

Here, there was no one to call her down.

"Beautiful now, isn't it?" a voice remarked from a branch next to her. The Doctor nearly fell out of the tree, grabbing onto a strong branch for balance. 

She looked over, and where she had heard the voice speak from was a snake, its width just a few centimeters thicker than her arm and its length...well, she couldn't tell where it ended beneath the upper leaves. 

"Did you just speak?" the Doctor asked, with more wonder in her voice than accusation of an animal talking. 

"Yes, I did. I said how the view is beautiful. Especially the city, don't you think?" Its voice was almost soothing, it spoke so clearly and calmly. Of course, each 's' sound was accentuated with a light hiss, but what else could be expected from a snake?

The Doctor acknowledged the city. "I agree. Earth's done pretty well for itself since I was last here."

"So you're not from this planet, I take it?" The snake asked with interest.

The Doctor chuckled. "No, you could say I'm not. Practically not even from this universe."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You seem to fit in quite nicely though, I must say. Besides the fact that no one of your age has climbed a tree around here before."

The Doctor squinted in the sun and eyed the snake. "And how old do you think I am?"

"I can't say, because I know you aren't human, and either way, I am not human either, so how would I know?"

"Good point." The Doctor turned back to the view. "And where are you from, Mister Snake?" 

"I am a serpent," it corrected. 

"What's the difference?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I am one."

"Alright. So where are you from, my polite serpent friend?"

"I believe I'm from here, but I haven't always been from here."

The Doctor chuckled. "I know the feeling."

The serpent continued. "We're not native to Earth. We came here long ago, not long after the humans, I believe."

The Doctor smiled slightly, recalling the story of the temptation in the Garden for the second time that day. "Anyone in your family know Adam and Eve, then?"

The serpent scoffed. "All he did was ask a question. It was very strange that God didn't allow them to eat of that one specific tree. And then it was all downhill for humans from there."

"I think they did pretty well for themselves after a while. I mean, look at this!" She gestured to everything in front of them.

"I suppose you're right."

After a few moments of silence, the Doctor asked, "How can you be speaking to me?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Come on."

The serpent sighed. "Doctor, you should know by now."

"That's very cryptic!" The Doctor let out a bitter laugh. "It would be nice if not everything in my life was a riddle and then a big revealed secret for a change."

"There are a lot of things still left for you to find out, Doctor. This universe is infinite," the serpent persuaded. 

"Yeah? Well I'm sick of learning things that I don't want to know. I'm sick of being the one to find out the universe's dirty little secrets."

"Go out there, Doctor. Discover the universe. It's trying to tell you more."

"You seem to know a lot." The Doctor glanced at the serpent from the corner of her eye, arms crossed. "And I don't recall telling you my name."

The serpent almost seemed to smile at this. "I know many things. I've been in this universe for a while. As have you, it seems."

"You're the serpent from Eden, aren't you?" The Doctor smiled slyly. "Is that how you know so much?"

"I cannot say, but you may say whatever you believe." The serpent's lower body began to unwind from an upper branch. It gave one final look at the great view of city and fields and river before them. "Beautiful, isn't it? I must be going now. Goodbye, Doctor."

The Doctor's eyebrow furrowed, but she responded, "Goodbye, serpent."

After a few more minutes of taking in the view from the top, the Doctor climbed down the tree. Waiting for her at the bottom were the flowers she picked. 

"Let's get you all some water," she said to the bunch. "Back to the TARDIS we go."


	2. Irises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor visits an old friend and opens the gates for some emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: talk of a mental hospital, depression, and suicide.
> 
> disclaimer: might not all be historically accurate. It's FANFICTION, not a doctorate thesis (but it might be as long as one).

The Doctor stood leaning against the TARDIS console, picking at the delicate flowers in her hands, thinking about what the snake had said. She had talked to the TARDIS about it when she returned--a coping mechanism, talking to her living home, she had developed long ago.

“What do you suppose the serpent meant?” she asked. “It said that the universe still was trying to ‘show me something.’ I think it’s shown me more than enough, don’t you think?”

The TARDIS hummed back in agreement. It was comforting, that noise. Obviously, it was able to communicate with her telepathically, but the simple act of hearing, out loud, that sentient mechanical noise brought her much calm, always had. The TARDIS was the closest thing she’d ever had to family, really. The most consistent family, at least. The most consistent and the most caring. Never left her--at least not for long-- never died-- again, not for too long--and always was there for her when something heartbreaking happened. She’d been there for so many heartbreaks. 

And now, the Doctor thought, how many more heartbreaks had she forgotten? How many times had she stolen a TARDIS? How many TARDIS’ had become family for her? Could this be the last TARDIS she formed a bond with in a long line of many before? 

This was hurting her brain, and especially her hearts. She couldn’t bear to think of abandoning the TARDIS(s) in past lives, couldn’t bear to think that maybe this special bond had formed and been broken over and over. No. The TARDIS was special, was a constant, was only. 

“Well, time to think about something else!” she exclaimed, plopping the flowers into a vase of water the TARDIS had provided. Dark thoughts fading, she stared at the vase, painted beautifully--by who? Oh, what does it matter?--and suddenly remembered a certain artist she had been missing.

“You know who I miss? Vincent! Let’s visit him, shall we?” she excitedly tended to the console, typing in coordinates and flipping switches. “Check in on him? See how his paintings’ developed?” 

The TARDIS hummed in hesitant agreement. The Doctor knew what that meant, felt what that meant in her own hearts. She was avoiding things again. But maybe, for now, that was best. 

“Let’s see. June? I think it’s June,” the Doctor said, tasting the air as she stepped out of the TARDIS, which she had parked on a grassy hill. “And looks like Auvers-sur-Oise, so that’s good, I’m in the right place.”   
She set off down the hill, feeling the long grass brush up against the bare skin where her pant legs ended. Looking up at the sky, she remarked, “Looks like it might rain.” She stuck out her tongue. “Tastes like it’s gonna rain later. Well, you had good luck in that garden, Doctor, not every place is gonna be sunny.” 

After a few minutes’ walk, she entered the commune, walking a cobblestone-paved road and probably drawing a little too much attention to herself with the cheerful way she was walking. People stared, and in the part of her mind that was almost, just barely subconscious she thought that it could also be the simple fact that she was a woman wearing pants, boots, and an unusual haircut for the times. She didn't mind. They'd have to get used to it eventually, she'd always assured herself, not that she needed much assuring anyway. 

It had started raining, and though she was able to put her hood up, the Doctor didn't want to get soaking wet before meeting her old friend. Seeking shelter and information about Vincent's whereabouts, she entered the door of a little inn, seemingly beginning to crowd with people because of the rain, with the new inhabitants reluctantly purchasing drinks in exchange for dry space. 

The Doctor approached the bar, where a young woman about Yaz and Ryan's age with a kind smile and a very pretty but simple dress sold food and various drinks to the sudden influx of customers. After a short while of polite exchange about the sudden downpour and strength of drinks between the woman and the customers, it was finally the Doctor's turn. 

"Hello! Quite quick weather out there, isn't it? Nearly drowned, the Doctor joked. 

The woman eyed her subtly, taking in the Doctor's "modern" appearance, but quickly ceased in order to not seem rude and let the polite smile return to her face. "Very much so, madame. But we need it, with the drought." She had the kind of heavy French accent that the Doctor had always been delighted by. Love a French accent. 

"Always good to look on the bright side, I always say!" The Doctor beamed. 

The young woman nodded. "And what can I get you?"

"Not sure, didn't really think about that yet! Do you have any suggestions?" 

"Well, madame, wine is always a good choice on a rainy day like this."

"Great, I'll take that then." 

The woman nodded and turned to get the Doctor's wine, during which she suddenly remembered that she a) didn't like wine all that much and b) had no money on her. What were these damned pockets for if she didn't put anything of use besides the sonic in them! Anyway. 

The Doctor addressed the woman as she poured the wine into a glass. "Um, mademoiselle, have you heard of a Vincent Van Gogh? I'm looking for him, he's an old friend." 

The woman halted her work and shot a sharp, practically stunned look at the Doctor. "I'm so sorry, madame, you haven't heard?"

The Doctor cautiously inquired, "Heard...what, exactly?"

The woman sighed and finished pouring the drink, placing it in front of the Doctor on the bar. "He's at Saint-Rémy. He went mad and—"

"Don't say that." She was angry, and didn't know where it came from so fast. "He's not mad. He's ill. Lots of people have stuff like it, they just never show it." She spoke sternly and factually. She was suddenly reminded of how sick she was of humans not understanding mental health. At least Ryan and Yaz and Graham's generations were getting a little better. 

The woman's face showed frustration but her eyes held shame. "I'm sorry, but that's what happened. He cut his own ear and committed himself to the asylum." 

The Doctor was puzzled. When was she? What year had she first visited Vincent? Oh, it was so long ago. 

"How do I get there?" The Doctor asked urgently. 

The young woman gave her directions but added, "I doubt they'll let you in, they're not fond of visitors."

"Thank you. Keep the wine." And she sprinted out the door.

The Doctor's precious positive mood had faded, and since hearing this concerning update on Vincent it felt as though her hearts had sunk to her stomach. She wished she had checked the date, and at least brushed up on the history of the artist. It would be dreadful to find Vincent in some worse state than when she had left him last. She wasn't sure if she could handle seeing her friend like that at the moment. 

As the mental asylum Vincent had checked himself into was approximately 750 kilometers away, the Doctor set the TARDIS to take her there in the same current time. Determinedly, she walked up to the first person she saw at the asylum and asked, "Where might I find Vincent Van Gogh?"

The person she had asked was an older man who seemed to be a doctor, who eyed her with suspicion. "May I ask who is looking for Vincent?"

She thought quickly and was able to remember at least one fact about the artist. He had a sister. Well, three sisters. 

"I'm Anna, his sister."

The doctor stared at her. Clearly, he wasn't buying that this strangely dressed, British-accented blonde woman was Vincent Van Gogh's oldest sister. 

She had an idea and risked it. "See, here's a photograph of the two of us," and held up the psychic paper, willing the universe to please, let this work. 

Miraculously, the doctor nodded and said, "Follow me, please." Behind him, the Doctor's eyes widened in awe at the psychic paper. Didn't know it could do that, she thought. Handy. 

"He's been rather calm lately, which is good progress," the doctor informed her. "Not too many attacks."

"That's good. When did he check himself in, exactly?" 

"About December of last year, I believe. Has he not written to you?"

The Doctor hesitated. "Yeah, he did...he just didn't state exactly when, just that he popped on in. Sent it in a Christmas card!"

The doctor furrowed his brow but said nothing. Ooh. Not a good one. Don't use that again, she thought to herself. 

"Vincent, you have a visitor," the doctor announced as they entered a garden courtyard. "Your sister Anna."

Looking up from a setup of a crooked easel, colorful and messy palette, and several stained paint cloths, Vincent Van Gogh sat before the Doctor. Confused, he began to speak, "That's not—"

"Vincent!" The Doctor exclaimed and outstretched her arms to the artist. "It's so good to see you!"

Vincent instinctively opened his arms and accepted the hug, awkwardly patting her on the back. 

"I'll leave you two for a while," said the doctor. 

Pulling back quickly, the Doctor apologized. "Sorry about that. I know you know I'm not Anna," she smiled bashfully. 

Perturbed, Vincent muttered, "Um, it's fine—Who are you?" 

"Ooh. Right. Forgot about this part. Regeneration. I'm the Doctor! Remember me? I was a silly man in a bowtie last time you saw me. I'm a woman now, so that's fun."

Vincent shook his head. "I'm sorry, you're a doctor? I thought I was already being treated by the other doctor. And," he chuckled, "I'm sorry, but you're a woman, and women are typically nurses."

Expelling breath and rolling her eyes at the usual bit of sexism of the earlier Earth centuries, the Doctor attempted to explain. "No, the Doctor. Remember the Krafayis,the large bird-horse-alien only you could see? You attacked it with a chair? That time. Surely you remember that."

Vincent laughed heartily. "I'm sorry madame, I may be mad, but I'm not that mad."

The Doctor was confused. Why didn't he remember? How could someone forget fighting off an alien and then meeting another time traveling alien soon after? Not to mention traveling into the future to see his tremendous artistic legacy. 

Oh. She understood. Silly Doctor. Thousands of years of time travel and you still get it wrong. 

"What year is this?"

Vincent scoffed. "And I'm the one in the madhouse?"

"Seriously, Vincent, what year is it?"

He made a face. "It's 1889."

"Oh! Ohhh. I see now." A year too early. She had met Vincent in 1890. "More explaining to do then."

She reached for a nearby chair as Vincent turned his attention to his current masterpiece. 

"May I?" she asked.

"Be my guest," he replied, not looking up. 

The Doctor began to–as gently and un-profoundly and un-spoiler-y as she could– relay to him the events of how they had met. She left out the more revealing parts: the Krafayis, taking him to the future, etc. She left in the parts that were in attempt to gain his trust. She needed him to trust him if she was going to help him.

Because that's what this had turned into, hadn't it? She realized it as her eyes wandered to Vincent's brush dance while she explained things to him. She realized that a neutral visit to a friend had turned to a mission to help. To help just one person for now, not save the world, not even save this man's life–for she knew how it turned out, in the end– just to put some goodness into someone's life, especially if she couldn't currently put all that much into her own. Little by little, she thought, I'll get back to myself again. Hopefully. 

"How do I know you're not just some madwoman making all this up?" He asked as he furiously painted the textured dirt in his painting–it was Irises, she realized, one of Vincent's most renowned and delightful works, a beautiful scene of fragile indigo flowers with strong, tall stems and leaves. "This could be some sort of secret test by the doctors to see if I'm ready to leave yet."

"I know it's difficult. You have no reason to believe me. But I can tell you this: in about one year, you're going to meet a man claiming to be the Doctor, just as I'm claiming to be. We're the same person, see, and I can't fully explain that to you right now, but I promise, he'll come. Him and a girl named Amy Pond." The Doctor smiled softly. "She's got orange hair like yours, you'll love her." 

Vincent glanced up at her but shook his head as he suddenly spotted an error in his painting and got to work fixing it. "I still don't know–"

"Vincent," the Doctor's voice was stern but gentler than ever. "Look at me."

He looked up at her, and she finally saw the fear in his eyes. Those sea-green eyes held so much emotion behind them, and being here, in an asylum, with a strange woman claiming to be from the future as well as a former man and a friend he hadn't met yet, well, the Doctor could tell it was a lot to keep behind just two eyes that still had so much left to see. 

"I promise. I am who I say I am, and what I say will happen will happen. You will see in just a matter of time." 

Vincent's eyes softened, and she saw his shoulders relax slightly. He sighed. "I guess I will." 

The Doctor leaned back in her chair. "Good. Just hold out for a little, yeah?"

Vincent let out a small, sad laugh. "You see, Doctor, I just don't know how long I'll be around to 'see.' You've seen my future, but I'm not sure I'll make it that far to see it myself."

For the second time since she'd come to 1889, the Doctor's hearts sunk deep down to her stomach. She knew what that kind of language meant. She'd seen it countless times before. Even spoken such words herself. 

"Would you mind taking a break from your work for a little, Vincent? I'd quite like to take a walk around, seems like a beautiful area."

Vincent nodded and set down his brush. Irises seemed to be almost finished. "I suppose I need some fresh air anyway."

It was sunnier now and here than it had been a few hours ago in Auvers-sur-Oise. Vincent led the Doctor along a wild path not far from the hospital. It was unkempt, with tall grasses and newly blooming flowers crowding the path, but that's just how the Doctor liked it, as nature should be, and she had a feeling that was how Vincent liked it too. 

"There was quite a lot of rain in March and April, but I'm happy it brought so much life to this land," Vincent remarked.

"April showers bring May flowers," the Doctor chuckled. 

Vincent gave her a look. "You're a very strange woman." 

"Yeah, I get that a lot." 

Vincent stared at her for one moment too long, then turned his attention back to his surroundings. "It's beautiful, isn't it, the way the plants just grow so much on their own, without any help from anyone. They need no motivating, they just grow so tall and wherever they want, like here.”

“I wouldn't say they’re all on their own. They have the sun, the soil, the rain, and even us, supporting them.”

“What do you mean, ‘us?’ What can humans do for flowers?” 

“We admire them. Love them. Make sure they know there’s reason for growing.” She looked up at Vincent, his eyes softening, fixated on the flowers, and inside him, his heart changing form.

“I know things are hard, Vincent. They’ll always be, I’m sorry to say. But,” she lightly set her hand on his shoulder, “That’s being human. That’s being alive. And being alive, you can see so much and do so much and love so much.”  
“You can admire irises or sunflowers and through your gorgeous paintings, they admire you back. You can meet people who care for you tremendously.” At this, placed a hand over her hearts. “You can live your life with the hope that someday, you will be remembered fondly, and with reverence and awe.” 

Vincent almost looked upset. He didn’t meet the Doctor’s eyes. “How can you say all this, Doctor? You barely know me. You don’t understand what I’ve been through, the rejection I’ve faced.”

“I may not know you that well, no,” she dropped her hand from his shoulder. “And I can’t know exactly what you’re experiencing, no one can. But I’ve met people like you, I’ve been people like you, and I can say with one hundred percent certainty that they--you--are the most important person in all of time and space. Your suffering brings beauty, and inspiration, all of this and your fight to make this life the best you can make it shows people that it’s worth living. You’re a perfect example of why it's important to live your life as you, yourself, and to live as best you can. Vincent, you’ll inspire millions for centuries.”

Vincent was overwhelmed, clearly. His shoulders began shaking, he covered his face with his hands, and he sank down, right in the middle of the path, amongst the flowers he so admired, and cried. 

The Doctor panicked and crouched beside him. “I--I’m so sorry! I’ve upset you--”

He shook his head violently. “No one’s ever said anything so kind to me,” he sobbed. “Not Theo, not my mother, especially not Anna. Thank you.”

Relieved that she hadn’t technically upset him, the Doctor sat and asked cautiously, “Would it be alright if I gave you a hug?”

Vincent nodded, and she saw a small smile briefly appear. 

“Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated. 

After a few minutes of silence and sitting amongst the flowers, the Doctor spoke again. “You okay?”

“For the most part...for now...” he sighed. “Yes. I’m just confused.”  
“About what?”

“Everything about you, and your future.” His eyes dry, red from crying, and newly more inquisitive than the Doctor had ever seen a person’s eyes, he asked, “How can one woman hold so much wisdom that can reduce a man to tears?” He chuckled. “I’m a bit embarrassed, to be honest.” 

“Oh, we all need a good cry now and then! It’s good to let everything out sometimes, scientifically proven to relieve stuff, you know? And I think you were long overdue.” 

“I suppose so. But what about you, Doctor? In my experience, someone only knows so much about suffering when they’ve suffered greatly themselves.”

The Doctor looked away. Not now, she thought. You can’t do this now, it will be too much, too fast, too intense. Not safe here, not with Vincent so fragile, not without...what? Why couldn’t she let go now? She could feel Vincent staring, could feel her walls, ancient and instinctive, rising, trying to block the flood before it was too late--

“I’ve suffered lots, yeah. But I’ve learned to process it over long periods of times. I’m very old,” she tried to laugh at that, knowing Vincent, if challenged, wouldn’t even be able to guess within centuries of her actual age. “So I’ve got time.”

“You don’t look it,” he smiled, bashfully, a new kind of smile she hadn’t seen on Vincent before. Refreshing. “Old, that is.”

The Doctor laughed. “Aw, thanks mate. But I am. Very.” 

“So, follow your own advice then.” He picked a long blade of grass out of the ground.

“What do you mean?”

“Let it out. I know what it’s like to hide being great emotions, Doctor. You can’t keep it inside you.” Vincent tore slowly at the grass blade, dividing it into several strands. “It has to get out, one way or another. For me, it’s usually painting. Today, it turned out to be sobbing to a woman I’ve just met.” 

She nodded, fingertips lightly caressing the petals of an iris just between her knees. “I think you’re right. I’ll get there eventually. Thank you, Vincent.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve done more for me with your visit than you can know.”

She stood up abruptly and stuck out her hand, grinning. “Vincent Van Gogh, it’s been a pleasure.”

He let her help him up, and said, “Doctor, it’s been a pleasure to have you.” 

They shook hands, then the Doctor pulled him in for another hug. “See you soon. Soon, I promise.” She pulled away and smiled. “Hang in there.”

“I will.” 

The sun was setting as the Doctor slowly walked back to the TARDIS, the countryside aglow with warm, golden light. She was glad she got to visit Vincent, but she was in her head now more than ever. Her thoughts had caught up to her, and she had been running so long. Now she was headed for a full, screeching, crashing halt. 

The Doctor felt heavy as she approached the door of the TARDIS and opened it. She couldn’t understand why, she wasn’t sleep-deprived--probably, she couldn’t remember when she slept last-- she wasn’t ill, she wasn’t--

She closed the door of the TARDIS and let the tears fall. Where had they come from? She hadn’t even processed anything besides the day’s events yet, how could she be crying so suddenly?

And finally, she let it all fall out, just as Vincent had suggested, just as she had suggested to him. Tears poured out, she sank against the door, silent crying turned to sobs. Inwardly, she was baffled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself cry so freely.

The Doctor wasn’t even crying about anything specific, anything that had happened to her in the past few months. It was pure emotion, just letting herself physically feel the pain and confusion and grief and anger and solitude she had accumulated in her hearts and locked there, now set free. 

This was good. She had heard humans talk about having “a good cry” before. Was this it? She had never understood that, and was worried whenever they spoke of the concept. She knew crying was good for expressing oneself, for physically releasing chemicals to change mood. But now she knew that it was good for the soul, too, to not keep things inside so much. 

A good cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got pretty long and dialogue-y, I'm sorry. But hey, content! I adore Van Gogh so I wanted to see how he and 13 could meet. Look for a lot of angst like the end of this chapter in the next chapter.


End file.
